The day after.

Recently, in case any of my blog readers didn't know (Laura), Syl and I broke up. We mutually dumped each other, deciding it was the best thing to do. I feel like at the end of our relationship, we (not to simplify the past 20 months into a single sentence) left each other better off than we found each other. At least I feel like I can say that... Because man, you should have seen her before I came along! Just kidding, BM.

Anyway, I spent the next day in mourning. Crying, and then when I was okay, I'd unconsciously conjure up happy memories or melodramatic sayings, or phrases to make myself cry more. I know I do this and I'm okay with it. Anyway, here's what I journaled the day after for your amusement:

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I wake up. It takes me about 0.153 seconds to remember that I broke up with my first love last night. I begin what will be the first of many crying sessions. I focus the three blurry red numbers on top of my television. It's about 8:00. She's getting ready for work. Maybe she'll have no choice but to contact me for a ride. Nah, Tim or Miriam would be available if need be.

I get up and fix myself some oatmeal. I sit in front of my computer and check the scores. Damn, no points for Fedorov. A door opens across the hall. I hide my face from my roommate, Geoff, and clear my throat as to let out a nice healthy "Morning". "Ay." is his response.

I take the advice I gave my mother that one day and then enter the living room. Talking to my roommates cheers me up a little but they'll both be gone in less than an hour to work. I go back to my room and decide I should call Tim and Miriam.

I practice over and over saying "Hey. It's Travis. What are you doing for lunch? Do you mind if I drop by for lunch?" Suffice to say it didn't go as planned but Miriam was quick to invite me over.

I spend the day visiting with timlap and mimlap. We talk about BlackMamba, but also about all other kinds of things. This was very enjoyable to me and was a nice distraction. I don't leave until about 4:30.

I go home and check my email. No messages from Sylvia. That's good, I suppose. We need to be strong. There's an email from work. "...a parcel has arrived here for you." Sylvia's Christmas present: JBL Creature II speakers to go with her new iMac. I told Sylvia about the gift the night before. I told her not to think of it as a Christmas present but rather something I bought because there was a huge sale on but I don't need. So she'd really be doing me a favour by taking it off my hands.

I make myself some supper and then head down to the Centre of Excellence for Children and Adolescents Who Can't Read Good to pick up my parcel.

I come back home and unpack it out of its box. Now I wait for hockey.

I don't really want to go to hockey but...

The phone rings. I wish deep inside that she lost the will not to phone me. It's the land lord's son. I don't pick up.

Anyway, I don't really want to go to hockey but I some type of "common sense" inside of me tells me it would be good for me, so I am.

An hour later my door opens. It's the landlord's son and his cougar. Dammit! They probably thought that when no one answered that no one was home. Just what I need! (There's a huge back story to this that I wish I had blogged about)

Oh well, just another couple of hours until hockey. Then I'll be too busy being winded from being out of shape to think about her, then I'll leach onto the other guys afterwards and see how long I can make this night go so that when I arrive home, I'm good and tired and there will be less tomorrow in which to cry.

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So that was then. Now I'm doing a lot better. I thought everything was pretty much back to normal until BlackMamba came by to pick up her speakers (which you can read about on her blog). It was hard know how to act, especially when you're so use to touching them like putting my hand around her upper arm just above the elbow or put my arm around her shoulders, etc.

Enjoy the speakers, Bab..., er..., Pal (?!)